Dare You To Move
by aspdstra
Summary: Post LDAT; Rory has a bad day -- Tristan gives her a ride home. NOT as cliche as it sounds or whatever -- Chapter 5 last chapter is here, R&R!
1. Rainy Days & Fridays Always Get Me Down

DISCLAIMER: No. I wouldn't even go there. So don't you.

DARE YOU TO MOVE

By trory-goddess

RATING: R, except for Ch. 3 (NC-17)

PAIRING: Um, hello

SUMMARY: Rory has a bad day -- Tristan gives her a ride home -- not as cliche as you think, I promise 

.

A/N: This is the first part in the first volume of my series of songfics (read my profile for more details). All I ask is that you be kind, and R&R with constructive comments and criticism. Otherwise, have a ball reading, 'cuz I had a ball writing!

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Ch. 1: Rainy Days and Fridays Always Get Me Down

Why was this happening to her? Andrew Jackson and his valuable contribution to American History as well as any goings-on this class had to offer were of no consequence. Why was this happening to her? 

Of all the people in the world this day could've happened to, it had to happen to Rory. She was sure it was punishment for returning the videos to the video store without rewinding them; it was the first time she'd ever done it, not rewinding the tapes, in all her years of video-watching. But she had been pressed for time and couldn't sit and wait for her VCR to rewind the tapes so she'd just put them in their respective cases and gone about her urgent business. Now she instantly regretted her rash and unprocessed actions because karma was being unrealistically cruel by inflicting upon her the pain and toil this day had mutated into.

Not only did she do horribly (in her mind) on an important test for the first time in her life, not only had she had a discussion with Dean last night about college and all her plans and all the great classes she could take, which had escalated into a fight about commitment and their undecided future as a couple and had ended with yelling and childish behavior, therefore spilling over into and complimenting the nightmare this day already was, NOT ONLY had her mom, Lorelai Victoria Gilmore, her maternal figure and partner in crime, deserted her and gone to London with her grandparents for a jolly old funeral while she remained behind so she could take the oh-so-crappy SAT's with the rest of her class she didn't even know, but to add to the monstrosity, she had had no coffee -- none, all day, not a drop, nothing, she was completely devoid of her sacred life blood and it was all kinds of wrong. 

Of course, waking up late, rushing out the door to make the bus with no time for Luke's and a broken cappuccino machine at school would make for a no-coffee predicament, but this was the day from Hell after all, such hijinks and mishaps were expected. Honestly, the twilight zone and all its abnormal, nonsensical glory would've been more than welcome at this point and time; she would be sure and willing to take killer robots who stole peoples' eyes and a whole crop of radioactive corn that turned normal human beings into zombies instead of being forced to live through this day.

Thankfully, it was almost over. All she had to do was get through this class then gather her things from the locker and head out to the bus stop where the rest of the misfortune this day had in store for her could be unleashed in all its fury from the comfort of her own living room.

Success, the bell was ringing!

That's it, Rory! Maneuver your way through the crowd, dodge all obstacles, let nothing come between you and your goal! Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize, eyes on the p --

Oh -- Paris.

" Rory. There you are. I have something eminent to discuss with you."

" Do you think it could wait, Paris? I'm kinda in a rush and I really need to leave to make my b--"

" I'll only be a minute," she interrupted, preparing her presentation of sorts.

Rory rolled her eyes, shaking her head while she dropped her bag and entered her combination.

" Never mind, now's a perfect time."

" I wanted to inquire about your work on the newspaper."

" Inquire about it?"

" Yes, as in ask questions about it and have you respond to said questions with affirmative and hopefully satisfactory answers."

" Well, what's wrong with it?"

" I never said anything was wrong with it."

" Actually, you haven't said anything about it, I was just preparing myself for the worst, 'cause you have that look," Rory informed, a little distracted with the activity of loading up her bag.

" What look?"

" The look."

" Again, what look?"

" That look you get when you're about to relay something negative and unpleasant, your face flattens and your eyebrow does this occasional twitch, I can't believe you've never seen it in the mirror when you look at yourself and chant ego-inflating incantations at your reflection."

" I'll let that one slide since you're flustered and clearly not thinking with the rational part of your brain."

" You're too kind," Rory quipped.

" I like to think so," Paris returned.

Hurriedly zipping her backpack, Rory started off, her watch indicating that speed was required to meet her deadline in a timely fashion.

" Okay now you're just being rude," Paris snapped, inevitably trailing behind.

Rory stopped her super-walking just shy of the exit and faced her pursuer head on. 

" I'm sorry Paris, I just have to make this bus or else I'll have no other way of getting home for at least another two hours 'cause it's the weekend and all the buses have funny schedules on the weekend and they stop running after a certain point in the afternoon 'cause it's Hartford and maybe they figure everybody suddenly sprouts car keys and a car come Friday and no longer require public transportation, I have no idea, I just know I can't miss this bus, I can't!"

" You're testy, why are you testy?"

" Paris, please tell me what's wrong with my work on the paper so I can leave and fix it at home."

" Like I said before, Rory, there was never any mentioning of anything being wrong with it."

" And, like I said before, you haven't actually said anything about it either, which is leading me to believe you don't really have and never had anything valuable to say about it to begin with! What is it, is it the topic?!"

" No........."

" Because if you don't like my coverage of the assembly on sexual education, that's just tough, 'cause you gave me the student life section knowing there was only so much I could do with it, I mean you had to know, look at the population of Chilton, all it consists of are snobby upper-class socialites and insane amounts of extracurricular activities that look good on a high school transcript, there's only so many angles you can put on that!"

" That's not it........."

" It's the ending! You didn't like my anecdote about the girl who had the sex talk with her counselor and ended up resigning her self to complete and total celibacy after hearing about the side effects and symptoms of syphilis! I was sure that would've made the article worth reading, something to send the audience away with an -- intelligent sobriety, I can't believe you didn't like the ending!"

" I never said I d --"

" OH NO, MY BUS," Rory exclaimed, and she jetted from the premises just in time to see her only hope for survival grunting off into the distance without her in it.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

This just got better and better.

" Paris?!! You made me miss my bus!!! Do you see it driving away?! It's gone!"

" Rory, I believe you made you miss your bus; if you had stopped ranting long enough to hear what it was I had to say, this conversation could've been over and done with minutes ago."

" And what was it you had to say, Paris," Rory questioned through a clenched jaw.

" You work was good -- exceptional, in fact. While the topic, in all its raw teenage, hormonal imbalance couldn't have been avoided, you handled it well. I should like to see more like it in the days ahead."

Rory's burnt nerves almost snapped into crispy ashes at Paris' revelation, and she nearly had a conniption when Paris handed her her copy of the print.

" One thing though, you might want to check on the spelling of syphilis, I believe it's a 'y' instead of an 'i', but that's an honest mistake. The ending is catchy, though, very insightful. Well, I won't keep you any longer, have a nice weekend, see you Monday."

With that, she was off, her hips switching as if to say, 'Haha, you fool, your bus just left you and I could care less!'

Rory was stunned.

Why had Paris caught her right at the end of the day to talk to her about the newspaper? As obsessive-compulsive as Paris tended to be about trite matters, it just didn't add up. Not only that, why had she made it seem like she was going to spout an endless string of criticisms concerning her work then changed and suddenly given her accolades in such a sickeningly-obliging manner?

Realization dawned on Rory as she recalled the events involving some boy with blonde hair and a smirk for days who attended Chilton that Paris liked and had asked Rory to a concert, well, forced an invitation on her and she'd rejected him, but not before the damaging news had reached a concerned and extremely angry party. 

As lame and demented a plot as it seemed, Rory could've called Paris intentionally making her miss her bus.

The switch in her hips had vocalized a mocking statement telepathically after all; she'd heard it.

No matter, what's done is done.

Now all that was left for Rory to do would be to roam the halls of her prison until some kind soul took pity on her or until she struck Hartford gold and suddenly sprouted car keys and a car like everyone else on Fridays.

Her backpack seemed uncharacteristically light. She was missing text. Seeing as how she had time to burn, this problem could be remedied.

Arriving back inside Chilton, she headed to her locker, only to find Tristan waiting for her, holding what seemed like a very familiar stack of books.

" Hey," he greeted timidly.

The nerves were severed.

" Oh God -- have I done something so inexcusable to deserve this? The last time I checked, not rewinding video tapes was not a capital offense!"

" What?"

Bothered with his simply being there after only seconds of interaction, she dropped her bag and wearily entered her combination -- again.

" First, I have no coffee all day 'cause of my stupid alarm clock and the stupid broken cappuccino machine, then I do poorly on my Physics test, I had the most pointless fight with my boyfriend last night about nothing, not that that's any of your business, my family went to London for a funeral and to visit my great-grandma and I couldn't go because the lame SAT's are tomorrow, Paris slithered out or the woodwork and bombarded me with these -- well she didn't actually say anything meaningful -- but she wasted my time AGAIN with idiotic comments about her precious newspaper, therefore making me miss my bus and only ride home, and now I have you, the bane of my existence, skulking around my locker like -- like some annoying squirrel at the park that keeps coming back once you feed it the crust of your peanut butter and jelly sandwich, why can't everyone just leave me alone?!"

Tristan wore a concerned expression on his face, not knowing what button he pushed.

" I was just coming to say hi -- and to give you your books back -- *clears throat* that I stole," he confessed, deliberately mumbling his last words.

Rory snatched the reading material extended, glowering in contempt.

" Wow, that new artificial heart the Great and Powerful Oz gave you must be working better than the other stone one you had."

He chose to ignore her snipe, as well as the bitter smile that threatened to approach on his face, and refocused his attention.

" Do you need a ride or something?"

" No."

" Bu -- you said you missed you bus."

" I don't need a ride, Tristan -- not from you."

Abruptly, she started off to avoid the seal of doomed fate on her afternoon. He didn't take the hint that she didn't want it to include him (stupid, I know I tried to tell her).

" How the hell are you s'posed to get home?"

" I'll walk."

" From Chilton?"

She stopped to ensure the discourse they were engaging in didn't tray on longer than need be.

" The only thing that'll stop me would be for balls of fire shooting from the sky, marking the Apocalypse and the end of mankind, please go away."

" Rory........"

He struggled to keep up with her newly started quick pace.

" I'm trying to be nice here!"

" Try all you want, nothing you've done, are doing, or will ever do could be considered nice, I suggest you give up while you're ahead -- no, how about before you get further behind."

" Clever, think that up all by yourself," he retorted, somewhat unimpressed.

" I hear the wind but know not where it comes from........."

" You can't just walk home, I'll give you a ride."

" I'll try my luck with one of the club members, thank you."

" W -- half of them don't even get out 'til 6:00 or 7:00, you wanna wait -- *checks watch* -- almost four hours?"

" I'm desperate."

" So let me take you."

" I said desperate -- not suicidal, not poverty-stricken, and certainly not pathetic."

" You obviously need a ride, why won't you let me give you one?!"

The fact that he was so passionate about it only made her more vexed instead of enamoured.

" I will never need anything from you! If I was suffering and dying from an incurable disease and I required an organ donor, and you were a perfect match, I still would need nothing from you, and frankly -- I'd like to keep it that way! I hate you, I don't want anything to do with you, leave me alone!!!"

Rory then stormed away and left a wounded Tristan to look morose while swallowing the lump in his throat and regretting being so taken with a girl who despised him.

LATER........ (15-20 minutes)

After meeting with his swim coach like he did every day, Tristan strolled down the hallway to the Computer lap to pick up his make-up assignments for ISM. He didn't expect Rory to be sitting at one of the computers, playing Solitaire. But life is funny that way.

A presence in the room caught her attention, and she couldn't help but feel a little guilty when the presence breezed by as if she wasn't there. She was very relieved to see it, for her patience was wearing thin and she wanted to go home. When it headed over to the make-up work bin, she tried to make herself more known giving it pointed looks. 

Since he wasn't getting the non-verbal messages from her body language, or chose not to, she became bolder and walked up to where it stood.

Nothing.

Clearly words were needed in this predicament.

" What're you still doing here?"

Tristan knew not to be baited and kept up his guard. Rory, however, didn't give up so easy.

" I thought you would've left by now -- have a meeting with Charleston or something, 'cause I know how that is."

" None of your goddamn business."

Oh -- didn't see that one coming.

She tried not to pout and lessened the widening of her eyes.

" I'm sorry," she said meekly.

Tristan looked up from the stack of papers while she glanced around nervously -- how did she do that? Make him feel like the villain when she had been so nasty to him? He hated himself for feeling bad.

" You still need a ride?"

His inquiry threw her off, but she was happy to respond.

" Yeah -- I mean, that is, if your offer is still -- standing and -- valid.........is it valid?"

When his eyes locked with hers, he was tempted to concur. But all the memories from earlier came roaring back with a vengeance, toughening his resolve.

" No, it's not."

Any hope on Rory's face grew wings and flew away instantly.

" Bu........" she found herself protesting.

" You hate me remember? Ask somebody else."

Stunned by his coldness, Rory fell silent and he left.

Another twenty minutes or so of fruitless searching came and went -- Rory began to believe she was destined to spend the night at Chilton. She'd bored herself silly with Solitaire, and the Internet is only so fascinating for so long. Wandering the halls aimlessly, no one was more surprised than she was upon seeing Tristan, going through his locker and looking quite put out.

Logic and reason told her to steer clear of any situation involving an irate high school boy and his attitude -- she would've been inclined to listen.........emphasis on the 'would've'. By now she was beyond that; she could've called herself being on the border of insanity, and she didn't even want to breach the subject of her lack of coffee intake.

Drastic measures needed to be taken, and she found her feet carrying her to his location.

Upon reaching it, and it was obvious she'd reached it, he pretended not to see her. So she just stood there. Eventually, he got annoyed and looked in her direction -- sadly, she'd managed to appear even more cute and innocent than she had earlier, and he hated himself again for being so attracted to her. But still, he said nothing.

After a couple more moments of silence and uncut staring, Rory gave in.

" Do you want me to beg or something?"

" It might help, yeah."

" Well, I'm not going to."

" Wouldn't be the first time," he jabbed with harsh finality and began walking.

Now seeing her pending fate looming before her, she took action, not caring what a sad sap she made.

" Fine -- Tristan, can I please have a ride home?"

" Said you didn't want one -- in fact, your exact words were you would never want anything from me even if you were dying from an incurable disease and you needed an organ -- or do you not remember saying that........"

" I changed my mind," she deadpanned, not enthused.

Tristan stopped trailblazing and stood in front of her.

" Oh well -- I guess since I'm the aimless, thick-headed puppy dog in this warped acquaintance we have and I can't help but bend to your every whim, I'm just supposed to accept that!"

" I never said you -- God, why do you always have to be such a -- spoiled, immature, circumventing jerk?!"

" Same reason you're a holier-than-thou, mulish, persnickety bitch."

Rory's mouth just went agape. Did he just call her…

" Did you just say the word 'persnickety'?"

" I did -- say that word, you heard me say that word -- because you just repeated it back to me."

" You probably don't even know what it means," she said smugly.

He quirked an eyebrow, and the smirk he gave her she actually found attractive.

" Very particular and obsessive about details, also known as damn near IMPOSSIBLE and difficult to please; exacting and often making rigorous demands -- got something else you wanna throw at me, 'cause I got a whole _hell _of a lot more where that came from."

Damn. Score 1 for Bible Boy.

" You should be doing your homework thoroughly, 'cause that's an SAT word," he returned just as smugly.

Bastard.

" I am not -- persnickety."

" Yeees, you are persnickety Rory."

" And where did you get mulish from? I am not mulish."

" Oh without a doubt."

" You're comparing me to a barn animal, you're calling me a mule?"

" Yes -- referring to the phrase, 'stubborn as a mule', can we -- move this along please? I have a life to get back to."

" How could anyone be more mulish than you? You can't even accept that I'm here, making an effort, trying to work this stupid thing out!"

" Well, I think maybe your effort sucks and you could work a little bit harder than that, don't you?"

Tristan and his flame of spiky blonde hair had a point. She had been quite unpleasant earlier and she had expected to magically find herself back in the courts of his good graces, accompanied by a flourish of trumpets, without a lot of effort.

" I'm sorry I was rude before, I was just -- frazzled.........but I would really appreciate it if you could give me a ride home."

Damn it. He didn't think that would work. But it did.

With a clench of his jaw and a slow nod, he started walking toward the parking lot. But he wasn't being followed, so he stopped.

" Are you coming?"

Rory remained immobile, and his patience was also wearing thin, so he grabbed her arm and dragged her along.

" Ow -- I'm perfectly capable of walking," she snapped, yanking her arm away.

" Maybe that's what you should've been doing instead of standing there looking like and idiot."

She halted and stared at him, hurt by the snide remark.

He stared back for a moment then looked down, clearly worn out.

" I'm sorry -- I didn't mean that."

She appeared to be skeptical (go figure).

" Please get in the car," he begged without an ounce of desperation, so it sounded more like a sigh with words accompanying it.

No movement.

Tristan made the short distance to the car, opening the door and holding out his hand, waving her in.

Finally, she complied and joined him, ducking into the passenger seat.

He slammed the door, walked around to the other side, got in and started the engine, revving it to release some tension -- must've been a guy thing. Having pulled off and made his way out of Chilton and all its counterparts, he noticed Rory looking rather uncomfortable with her gargantuan backpack.

" Would you like me to put that in the back for you?"

" I'm fine, really," she brushed aside, still struggling.

Tristan snatched the bag from her and threw in the back anyway.

Rory glowered at him, shooting back in the seat when he gunned off the line at the change of the traffic light.

" I said I was fine."

The glare he gave her could only be characterized as fatal, and she thought it best not to press the matter, facing front and falling silent.

As the car merged off onto the interstate, stretching straight and narrow in front of them for miles, it began to rain. He saw her shiver to justify tucking her hands away under her arms.

" Are you cold?"

" No," she corrected before she gave him a chance.

Enter fatal death glare. 

" A little."

Satisfied she was no longer trying so hard to be enigmatic, he put on the heat, laughing to himself.

" What?"

" Nothing."

" What?!"

" It's nothing, really."

" Why are you laughing, oh High & Mighty Tristan?"

He laughed a little more at her droning, shaking his head.

" I just find it amazing how quick you are to disagree with me."

" Maybe it's 'cause you've never given me a reason to agree with you about anything -- and honestly, do you blame me?"

All light-heartedness in the conversation swiftly leaves.

" I guess I wouldn't have the chance with you throwing my faults in my face every time the opportunity presents itself."

" Please. Do not expect me to feel sorry for you! You single-handedly massacred the only pending friendship I had at that God-forsaken school and practically threatened me into attending some lame concert that I didn't even want to go to!"

" Give me a break, Rory, the only reason you wouldn't go and thought it was lame was because I asked you and you know it! If Mr. Effeminate Hair-do, Paper-or-Plastic Bag boy had asked you, you would've gone in a heartbeat."

" He's my BOYFRIEND, of course I would've gone with him. And besides, you had raunchy, ulterior motives of sabotaging our relationship -- I said I'd never go out with you and I meant it!"

" I wasn't trying to be your boyfriend and I certainly wasn't trying to replace him, I just wanted to be nice -- clearly, you can't see past your high opinion of yourself to realize that!"

" Oh this from the poster boy for all things self-involved, spare my tortured soul from the irony!"

" At least being egotistical suits me!"

" You're speaking in mind-numbing subtext again."

" Let's just say I have it on a reliable source that your beginnings aren't entirely socially PC, namely referring to the sordid details of your conception -- oh, that's right, your parents never did get married -- where is your dad, Rory, by the way?"

The fire of a thousand hells blazed within her eyes.

" You asshole! Don't you dare act like you have some sort of dirt on me just because my parents aren't together! At least they love me, which is more than I can say for you! I'm almost positive no one loves you; first of all, why would they want to, and second how could they, since you make it damn near impossible for anyone to love you but yourself!!!"

Back from its short hiatus, the death glare fell on the unfortunate Rory, and she immediately regretted saying anything negative toward him. Too late, though.

Swerving madly off to the shoulder, he shut off the car and turned to face her.

" Okay, let's get something straight -- I don't care if you hate me, I don't care if you insult me -- hell, I don't give a rat's ass if you reject me until you're blue in the face, but DO NOT for one FUCKING SECOND pretend to know me or anything about me, because you don't, and I don't want you to! 'Frankly', it sickens me that I'm infatuated with you, but, I'm a guy, being stupid comes naturally…"

" W-wait -- did you just say you're infatuated with me?"

" Don't repeat it, it makes me look like even more of a loser."

" Oh, so only losers can be infatuated with me, is that it?!"

" Your words, not mine."

" *_Uh_* You just said that to score you points because -- because you think you brood well or something deranged like that, I'm not falling for it. And you need a new act, sober and emotional doesn't suit a heartless bastard, for obvious reasons."

That comment drove the nail home, and he became exhausted and aggravated beyond belief simultaneously. 

" Get out."

" What?"

" Get out."

" W -- you're leaving me here?"

" Did I stutter Rory? Get out of the car."

He then began fishing through the back for her stuff.

" You're ditching me at the side of the road, some -- deserted, back road, straight out of a bad horror movie I might add, because I have an opinion?"

When all he did is stare at her, she became afraid, even more so when he reached over her, opened her door for her (not to be polite), and threw her bag outside.

" You're serious about this, aren't you?"

" Get out."

She gave him a cautious look after glancing at the weather situation.

" I -- it's raining."

" God I wish someone had invented something to protect people from the rain! Why oh why hasn't that been thought up yet?! That just kills me -- assloads of talent gone to waste, it hurts almost!"

" You're not funny…"

He checked his reflection in the rear view.

" Am I -- smiling? Is there anything on my face even remotely resembling a smile…"

" I don't have an umbrella."

His face withered.

" Y'know, I'm feeling something, I'm not -- quite -- sure -- what it is, but -- oh, I don't care, that's it, yeah -- get out of my car."

" But…I…"

" Rory, get the FUCK out of the car!"

Not needing to be told twice, Rory stumbled out of the car into the torrential weather.

" I don't know where I am, what if I get lost -- or mugged?"

" Close the door."

" Tristan…"

The pleading tone did nothing for her in his book, and he snatched to door shut.

" You can't just leave me here!"

He paid no attention to her muffled demand and sped off in his silver BMW without a second thought to the contrary.

Rory can't help but stand there, looking stunned, because that's what she was. Basically, that stunned feeling escalated into a scared feeling, and everything around her began to seem a lot bigger and towering, namely the trees surrounding the wilderness she was in. 

Her lip began to tremble, and she swore to herself she wouldn't cry, but she couldn't help it, and relented, sitting in the rain on top of her gargantuan backpack drenched in grassy goodness and sobbing uncontrollably.

This went on for a few minutes.

Seeing as how she was in Nowheres-ville, USA, she figured she'd better try and find a Somewheres-ville if she had any hope for survival. Tristan certainly wasn't any help -- but then again, that was her fault.

So, she gathered her strength and dragged herself and her bag in an undetermined direction.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

So that was Chapter 1 – please R&R like I said before, and tell me what you think!

Chapter 2 is up next right NOW! Read on!


	2. In My Place

DISCLAIMER:  See Ch. 1 if you're still confused.

DARE YOU TO MOVE

By trory-goddess

RATING: R, except for Ch. 3 (NC-17)

PAIRING: Um, hello

SUMMARY: Rory has a bad day -- Tristan gives her a ride home -- not as cliche as you think, I promise.

A/N: Since there was no time between my chapter updates, I didn't get to do my infamous "Thank You to the Reviewers" at the end, so I'll do it in Ch. 3 and upload it after I edit out some of the smut to appease the FF.net Nazis.

Okay, read on!

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Ch. 2: In My Place

Silently fuming, Tristan continued to drive down the interstate.

Who the hell did she think she was?

First she insulted him when he was trying to help her out, then she came back and acted like nothing ever happened -- like she hadn't said she hated him -- again. As if she hadn't already hurt him enough, she just had to twist the knife. Then she came back again, and she had the nerve to insult him again, then ask him for a ride home. Oh no, it doesn't stop there! She insulted him yet again while he was engaging in the said kind act. That was stepping over the boundaries, like by a mile. She'd deserved it.

But every time he told himself that, his mind kept going back to the image of her, cold and shivering in the bad weather, all alone in the middle of nowhere.

Slowly but surely, the part of him that was butt-crazy in love with her began to win over, and he found himself turning around and going back. 

Sucker. It's what he was, so there was no sugarcoating to be done.

Meanwhile, Rory gave up on the 'finding civilization' quest and decided to stay put lest she get more lost than she already was.

Moments later, her spirits lifted when she heard a car engine roaring in the distance, turning and wiping her eyes to catch a glimpse.

A flicker of silver played off the dim sunlight, and she found she was smiling for the first time in almost a half-hour. But she decided she'd milk it for all its worth and pretend she was mad -- she was a girl after all.

Being such, when his car pulled up along side her and drove with her pace, she pretended not to notice, still genuinely sniffling and upset.

" Rory.........Rory I'm -- Jesus Rory I'm sorry, will you -- jus --"

His words called out the window were ignored and she shuffled along.

She wasn't going to give him an inch, so he turned off the car and caught up to her, briefly slipping through the mud and grass.

Rory was a mess -- she was drenched, clearly soaked to the bone; her ponytail was in strandy ruins, and his peripheral view of her face indicated she was both worn out and tired from crying. She was still the most breath-taking creature in existence. He'd dug himself in deep.

" I am so sorry........"

She glowered over her shoulder, silently telling him to shut the hell up.

" Ror -- *her refusal of his advances* -- God, what d'you want from me?"

" Nothing. I don't want anything from you, I just -- want to be left alone. I was going to be alone anyway, 'cause you left me -- out here to die, you fed me to the wolves, Tristan! I could've caught pneumonia and my dead body would be all shriveled up like a prune and all you'd care about is driving off triumphantly into the horizon to your big warm mansion for brandy and a cigar in the parlor -- I don't have a parlor! G -- go away, please....."

Rory kept walking, choking on her sobs and stumbling. Tristan processed her rant and made haste to catch up.

" Okay, I don't smoke -- I don't drink, I don't do any of that stuff, and I was not going to leave you -- out here, I was just -- angry and pissed off and -- you -- are crying ......... oh -- geez........"

He obviously didn't know what to do in these situations and tried to console her.

" Um -- I -- don't cry, please.........."

" Don't touchme!" (meant to be one word)

His attempts were rejected furiously, and he likened her response to that of Bilbo in Lord of the Rings, when he didn't get to have the One Ring one last time. It was an off analogy, but it was the first that came to mind.

" Whoa! Okay you -- are upset -- and crying -- a -- a lot."

Tristan tried again to comfort her, placing his hands timidly on her shoulders; she flinched, backing away a short distance.

Feeling a little bolder, he moved his hands up to either side of her neck then further up to cup her face and wipe away stray hairs.

She bit on her bottom lip, hoping to lessen her desire to tackle him to the ground as thanks for coming back for her, but Tristan was irresistible for a reason, and she immediately launched herself into his arms, burrowing her face in the safety of the slope of his shoulder.

He was a little caught off guard but equally welcome, and he correspondingly wrapped his arms around her slim waist, letting out a sight of relief.

  " I would never leave you out here, Rory -- you have to believe that.........."

She leaned back so she could look at him.

    " But you did, you drove away, I saw you driving away with your -- car and y -- and it was raining, i-it's still raining, and you left me, and I didn't have an umbrella and -- I saw you do it, you drove away, I saw y --"

Effectively, he silenced her by covering her mouth with his, pouring out his tongue and all his emotions from their mutually shitty day. She of course gave in, merely latching her hands onto his arms while his cradled her face, angling it for maximum contact. The kiss slowed down and lessened to them occasionally pressing their lips together to make sure the other hadn't disappeared.

Then the pause -- that dreadful pause and the staring, where both of them came to the recollection of what they'd just done. Tristan spoke first, running his fingers through his highly damp hair.

  " Oh God -- that was -- out of line, I am -- sorry, you have a boyfriend, um -- Derek, D -- Dylan........"

  " Dean," she aided him, making no effort to move out of his personal space.

  " Right," he agreed, clearing his throat, nervous for the first time in his entire life.

  " He's my boyfriend ........"

She said it more to remind herself than to help solve the mystery of whom he was.

  " Yeah -- he is........I should -- get you home," he decided, pointing his thumb in no particular direction.

Nodding, she assessed all the new information (which Tristan had clearly made her forget) and took action -- by kissing him again, this time holding onto his face for dear life, praying the Apocalypse doesn't come before she gets to finish.

*********************************


	3. A Kiss, A Touch A Makeout Session With ...

Ch. 3: A Kiss, A Touch -- A Make-out session with lots of pawing

Tristan and Rory sat in her driveway, not quite sure what to say.

It had been a strange day after all.

Yelling, name-calling, more yelling, ditching, crying, and then some kissing -- and some more kissing, to simplify a little.

Now they just sat there -- not awkwardly, just sitting there

"You want me to walk you up -- carry your bag or something?"

"No that's okay," she refused pleasantly, and they shared a good-natured grin.

Slowly, she rummaged through the back seat for her soaking-wet backpack, and Tristan swallowed the lump lodged in his throat at the thought of her leaving. She took notice of his sudden withdrawal and paused with her luggage sitting on her lap.

"Do you wanna come in?"

Seeing as how he'd been staring off into the abyss, her question didn't seem like a question -- think the adults' voices on Charlie Brown.

"I'm sorry, what," he asked, blinking his eyes to get back in touch with reality.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to come in........"

No sort of comprehension.

"To my house?"

Tristan furrowed his brow while grinning at the absurdity of her offer, pointing to the place being discussed.

"Your house."

"Yes."

"You want me to come into your house."

"Well -- I mean yeah. Look at you, you're sopping wet, you shouldn't drive all the way to Hartford in sopping wet clothes."

"I have heat, Rory," he reminded with a smile.

"That's not the point. The last thing you need is air blowing on you while the sickness sets into your pores -- you need to dry off," she warned in a motherly tone.

"I'll -- be fine, really," he assured her, nodding and never breaking eye contact.

When the staring began to get ominous, Rory chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating her next actions. She figured it was the only way to get him to agree, so she made her move, snatching his keys out of the ignition and hauling ass to her front door.

In his lazy state, it took a moment to process what she'd done, but he was not far behind. The next time he saw her, she was standing on her porch, dangling his precious keys in triumph with a satisfied yet wily grin on her face.

He chuckled, getting out of the car and walking around to stand in front of her, leaning on the hood, surprised.

"Rory -- what're you doing?"

"Stealing your keys so you can't go home."

"And why are you doing that," he inquired, crossing his hands over his chest.

"Because y -- you're wet and you're gonna get sick -- the sickness will set in."

His raised eyebrows and commiserating smirk told her she was full of crap.

"I'm not giving them back -- not until you come inside and let me take off your clothes."

The smirk widened.

"So they can be dried," she added, thoroughly embarrassed and already red, then turning to open the door with her keys and walk in. 

Trying to busy herself, she headed to her room to put her belongings away then came back to the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine.

" I don't know why you're doing this -- besides the fact that you want me and can't stand to see me as anything else but naked in your bedroom," she heard his taunting, realizing he'd complied and come in after all.

"This is not about sex," Rory clarified, walking into the foyer and pointing a vindictive finger in his face.

He tilted his head a little with an amused grin on his face, took hold of her hand, and ran his tongue up the length of the vindictive finger with a smoldering look in his eyes.

All her concentration skills were fixed on what he was doing, and she froze.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mary."

Rory's throat was very dry all of a sudden, and she swallowed to make sure she hadn't lost all her saliva-producing capabilities. Then he dropped her hand by her side and habitually shoved his hands in his pockets, causing her to snap out of the daze that had arrested her.

"Shoes and socks by the door, jacket on the rack, and the laundry room is that way -- don't touch anything," she droned while walking back into the kitchen to check on the coffee.

His smile indicated he was reveling in the effect he was having on her, and he did as he was told.

Meanwhile, she took advantage of this time to get out of her wet clothes and put on a pair of thick Powerpuff Girls socks, a plain, white, mid-riff revealing tank and some plaid flannel pajama bottoms that Luke had got her for Christmas. It wasn't warm enough, so she added on a grey Harvard sweatshirt. Boy was her hair an eyesore! Needing to be redone, she took it out, brushed it, put it back up into a messy bun, and headed to the laundry to see what Tristan had tampered with.

She found him, leaning against the closed door, trying to appear innocent.

"Why haven't you taken off your clothes," she demanded.

World Premiere of 'The Lazy Grin', directed by, produced by and starring Tristan DuGrey, complete with red carpet and paparazzi. Dammit, she'd encouraged him.

"You're just standing there -- the door's not locked."

"Perhaps not, but it was you who said for me not to touch anything -- I assumed anything meant both my clothes and your house, so I obeyed and decided to wait here for further instruction."

Infuriating -- simply infuriating.

"Fine, I give you permission to remove your own clothes and enter my laundry room to put them in my dryer, was that monosyllabic enough for you?"

" Completely -- although, the idea of reversing everything you just said and having you doing the taking off of the clothes and then you putting them in your dryer sounds a hell of a lot more intriguing," he babbled, doing that smoldering stare thing again.

Thankfully, the effect hadn't worked its magic just yet, and she was able to hear the phone ringing off in the distance -- well not that far, it was hidden between the seat cushions on the couch. She retrieved it, glowering at Tristan to silence him then dragging him into the laundry room, pressing 'Talk' and going to work on his tie.

"Hello?"

"I thought the whole tea and crumpets thing was an English myth or a legend or a tall tale or a device of Hollywood movies, did you know that they actually not only make crumpets, but they eat them -- at tea time -- 4:00 on the dot?"

Rory grinned into the shouldered portable phone.

"Hi mom."

"Hello my beloved. How's everything? School good, Dean good, Luke good, break anything, have any major life-altering parties where the whole school's invited and you didn't even know it, or maybe do some mad-scientist experiment that could potentially destroy our home, because I fully expect that."

"What's in those crumpets Mom?"

Tristan grinned, first because she'd just removed his tie, and second because he was able to hear their entire conversation due to Lorelai's ignorance concerning decimal levels.

"I don't know, maybe it's the yeast, or maybe the flour -- all I know is I'm giddy!"

" Yeah well I'm not -- *struggling with a shirt button* -- I plan to personally hunt down every member of the College Board and scalp them for scheduling the SAT's for the one weekend this year I could have gone to London."

He adjusted his body while she tugged the dress shirt out of his pants and off of his body -- this was pleasant, being undressed by Rory, it was a 'could get used to it' thing.

" They're in cahoots with all the other government conspiracies -- like Blockbuster, and McDonald's with their mystery meat, oh and those people who sponsor and star in the Infomercials on Saturday mornings -- pure evil," Lorelai quipped. 

"McDonald's and their mystery meat," Rory repeated, undoing Tristan's belt and purposely ignoring the grin he was wearing while focusing on the clothes he was not.

"Please, have you seen their nuggets? Last time I checked, spongy chicken was not healthy or even remotely edible, and the 'frozen beef patties' -- speak for themselves."

"This is true -- when are you guys coming back again?"

Off comes the belt, on to the wife beater.

"Sunday -- I can come back earlier if you're -- lonely," Lorelai offered, purring the last word like she was a Phone Sex Operator.

"If I was I'm not anymore," Rory retorted, scarred for life and enjoying the view Tristan's shirtless body brought with it.

He enjoyed her enjoying of the view as well as the fact that she was undoing his pants -- and having a hard time being successful. Jerking and tugging and maneuvering of all kinds resulted in a flustered Rory and an aroused Tristan fighting to remain calm.

"Meanie -- but seriously babe, these roaming charges on the cell are going to be horrendous if I don't get off and call you later during Happy Hour."

"Happy hour," she half-grunted, still struggling with the button. 

How did he do this every day?

"Yes -- also known as dinner at Grandma Lorelai's, full of fun, bonding and depredating comments about my troubled youth, during which I will make my escape from the table and go hide in the closet or the bathroom or some place safe from the madness and chaos so I can call you and fill you in on my pending misery -- sound good?"

Fed up with the offending button, Rory pointed to it as if to order Tristan to take it off himself and turned away to give him privacy. Then she heard a beep, signaling an incoming call.

"Yeah Mom, okay -- I'm getting a call anyways -- I'll talk to you soon."

"Definitely -- love you -- *loud kissing noises*"

He looked up to grin at the noise while he proceeded to remove his pants.

"Love you too -- tell Gramma and Grampa and Great-Grandma said hi and I love them too."

"Alrighty -- bye my little Oompa-loompa."

Rory rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Bye Mom *beep* -- hello?"

"Rory."

Her eyes went from rolling to wide as saucers.

"Dean."

Tristan, left in his grey, loose-fitting-enough boxer briefs sensed an evil smirk grace his countenance, and he moved closer to an unsuspecting Rory.

"Hey."

"H-hey," she greeted shakily, feeling Tristan's arms snake around her waist from behind her and move under her sweatshirt, coinciding with light, feathery kisses on her neck.

She whirled around, caught in his embrace, violently shaking her head and waving her free hand simultaneously to ward him off. His smirk got Grinch-ier.

"How are you?"

"Fine," her answer coming out as a squeak when Tristan had ignored her and decided to seek out the sensitive spot behind her ear and claim it with his mouth.

"Um -- that's good -- you sound a little hoarse."

Tristan trailed the kiss from behind her ear to her neck, then her jaw line, then her cheek, laving his tongue against her lips before snagging the bottom one gently between his teeth and releasing it.

"I'm -- *clears throat* -- a little thirsty, but it's okay, really," she reassured him, clamping a hand over Tristan's mouth when he went to kiss her. She could feel his grin and narrowed her eyes.

Then she took notice of the fact that he was wearing no pants -- just his -- unmentionables, damp from the rain, and a rock-hard, sculpted expanse of muscle and skin. At this, she panicked and hurried to the trash bags of clothes, leftover from the last town Clothes Drive, which was only a week ago.

Tristan got himself comfortable, sitting on the dryer to enjoy a generous view of Rory's backside without her knowing.

"Uh -- so how have you been," she asked to stay engaged in the conversation in the midst of rummaging through the Hefty bags.

"I've been thinking about you -- I miss you Ror."

She shot up; having found a pair of dark grey sweatpants she thought would fit him and a light-grey T-shirt of equal promise.

"I miss you too, Dean."

The pieces of clothing made their way from Rory's hands dead smack into Tristan's head in a fast manner, considering she'd thrown them when he was distracted. She concealed a laugh at the sight but covered the phone just the same.

"And that fight we had -- about the college thing -- was so stupid, I don't even know how it got that far."

Tristan made a 'that's so funny' face and hopped off the dryer to put on his clothes.

"Oh I know," she absent-mindedly agreed, preoccupied with Tristan putting on dry clothes on top of his wet boxers. 

Covering the phone, she reprimanded him.

"You can't keep those on."

He stopped at her loud whisper, raising an eyebrow.

"What," he whispered back.

"Your -- *pointing at the boxers* -- are wet, you have to take them off."

Realizing what she'd just said, she rushed out of the laundry room and shut the door, just in time to muffle Tristan's laugh.

"Rory?"

Oh right, Dean was on the phone.

"Here -- just got a little -- um -- that fight was stupid huh?"

"Yeah, it really was, did I catch you at a bad time?"

"NO! No, noooo, no no no nono -- not a bad time for me, not at all."

"Okay -- it's just, I felt really bad after the -- y'know, and I didn't know how to tell you. I thought about coming back but I figured you'd be plenty mad, so........"

"I wish you had -- my day could've gone a whole lot better, I guarantee it."

"That bad huh?"

Rory heard the door open and turned to find a shirt in her face for a greeting.

"A little small," Tristan mouthed once her face reappeared to see him clad in only the pants, and......... 

What was that he was holding his hand? 

Ah the boxers.

"Yes, really that bad."

She snatched them away from him as well as the shirt still clinging to her head and went into the laundry room yet again.

"Sorry 'bout that," Dean apologized, bringing a genuine smile to her face.

Loading the wet clothes into the dryer, she set it for an hour and pressed start.

And there was a Tristan waiting for her when she made a move for the door, very much invading her personal space and leaning in for a hot but solitary open-mouthed kiss.

Hadn't Dean just said something? Tristan's blessed tongue had made her forget.

"That's okay," she said as she came up for air, trying to stop the inevitable kiss that came afterward.

"I can't believe I was so insensitive; I mean who cares where you go for college, that's completely your decision, it has nothing to do with me.........and then I made it seem like you were supposed just drop everything for our relationship, how stupid is that? I can't believe you didn't slap me when I said that........"

No more of Dean's words reached Rory's ear as she was too enthralled with the kissing thing she and Tristan were engaging in currently, and the phone slipped from her grasp, thankfully landing in another soft pile of clothing on the floor.

Dean kept talking.

Tristan and Rory kept kissing, his hands moving from cradling her face to running down her body so she in turn could wrap her arms around his neck while he grabbed her ass and lifted her off the ground to carry her a couple steps to the dryer, where he set her down and leaned into the open space her splayed legs provided.

Dean kept talking.

He trailed his hand along her thigh and locked it in behind her knee, bringing her closer and receiving a grateful moan from her amidst all the kissing and tongue action. She in turn rested her knees on his hips and locked her feet around his lower back to maintain the contact. Their new closeness allowed him to move his hands underneath her sweatshirt to roam as they pleased, brushing up her stomach to the underside of her breasts; but a big bulky cotton sweatshirt didn't allow such free movements, and he eventually pulled it off, tossing it into oblivion and revealing a tiny white tank top, then the kissing continued.

Dean still kept talking.

As far as she was concerned, anything Tristan's hands chose to do was phenomenal -- whether it be caressing her back or her stomach, or running up and down her thigh -- or gently cupping her chest and circling his thumb around her nipple, exciting delicious moans from her otherwise-occupied mouth. It was almost too much.

We all know what Dean was doing.

Then Tristan saw fit to lift her off the dryer and carry her into the living room, never breaking contact with some part of her body, her lips, her neck, her ear, her lips again, didn't matter. All he knew was there was a nice big couch, and he was going to put her on it. He didn't mean to drop her so roughly, but she didn't fall off or seem to mind, so he joined her, lowering himself on top between her legs again, groaning into her open mouth at the feeling of her body pressed so closely against his. She pushed up against him, letting him know she appreciated it too, resulting in another groan and Tristan biting his bottom lip to retain sanity.

Dean, you should just give up.

Since when had Rory become a sex-crazed maniac? Wasn't she Ms. 'Wait Til The Right Time' and 'Make Sure You're in Love'? She thought sure she was, but somehow this boy -- check that, there was nothing boyish about him except his age, and she meant nothing -- man had managed to change all that and stir up such lurid desires in her that she didn't even think were human, only primal. His mouth once again moved from Rory's and made a trail down her neck, across her collarbone, between her breasts and settling on her stomach. He only stayed there briefly, moving back up her torso and taking the hem of her tank with him; she tried not to sound like a dog as she panted in anticipation, shutting her eyes like this was all some wonderful fantasy. Then she felt the heat of his mouth latching onto her right nipple, sucking lightly and pulling it back through his teeth as he went to switch sides. 

"Tristan," she cried hoarsely, shuddering at the contact and arching her back to be closer to him. Where on God's green earth had he learned to do that?

Dean Dean Dean *shakes head wearily*.........

Wait a second, did she say Tristan? Dean stopped his ranting and became frantic.

"Rory? Rory are you there? Rory!"

Did she hear him? Oh no, no she did not.

All she could concentrate on was Tristan and his ministrations -- and how his hand was sliding down her stomach and under her pajama bottoms, under her light blue underwear that didn't match the bra she'd had on earlier.

His finger slid between her folds, and he thought he was gonna die, not only at how hot and wet she was for him already, but also at how her hips shot off the couch just barely as he touched a particularly sensitive area. He took that opportunity to slide his finger inside her, testing her boundaries, then breaking his mouth away from her breast to mark her neck with his teeth and tongue, relishing her responses. Seeing it could only get better from here, he slid another finger in, and she dug her nails into his back.

"Fuck you're tight," he stopped kissing her long enough to whisper in her ear.

Man -- was he dirty. No complaints, though, he was sexy as all get out.

Her breathing became more erratic, and her moans became more frequent. Tristan could tell she was close, and he teased her opening with his thumb while continuing the movement.

"Oh God," she choked out, desperate to get closer to him.

This was it -- the end was in sight. 

He kissed her just because he could, their tongues dueling as he swallowed her screams.

It would've been a wonderful moment, really..........

But then there had to be a knock at the door.

"Rory??!!! Rory, are you in there, are you okay?!"

Dean -- there you are.


	4. Friends, er, Right

DARE YOU TO MOVE

By trory-goddess

Ch. 4: Friends….er….Right

Something was building up inside of her; she couldn't describe it because in all honesty she'd never felt it before.  She did know one thing – it was good.  Rory wanted whatever she was on the edge of feeling to hurry the hell up and happen before she lost her mind.

One more flick of Tristan's thumb and Rory shuddered to an earth-shaking halt, and a warm cramping spread through her stomach all the way to the furthest reaches of her body.  She didn't know exactly why she couldn't move, but ultimately that was irrelevant; she couldn't move, she couldn't think, she couldn't speak, and she didn't want to.  

Before she also couldn't hear from all the blood rushing to her ears, a certain familiar voice carried itself in a muffled fashion through her closed front door, and she vaguely remembered a knocking sound as well.

Then Rory found that Tristan was kissing her again; her senses having been returned, she realized it must have been because she was moaning like an idiot and the racket could've been heard through an air-tight titanium safe twelve feet thick.  The kissing slowed, and Rory pulled away, pressing her forehead against Tristan's so she might know what it was like to breathe again.

Eventually, she worked up the nerve to look him in the eye, and what she noticed there almost made her lose the breath she was trying to take; a striking cobalt blue, turned smoky with desire and want, somewhat thrown off by a rim of innocent curly lashes.  He had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen.

Knowing he'd brought Rory to a place where she could totally release herself and not be ashamed gave Tristan the best feeling of assurance he could ever feel.  Seeing and hearing what he'd done to her, and realizing it was really him who'd done it was even better than feeling it himself.  

It was also an added bonus that he had to kiss her so soundly so that everyone else in the whole town didn't know what he was doing to her as well, especially the unwelcome visitor at the door who wasn't taking the hint that they didn't want to be bothered.

The moment passed, and the kissing became less urgent and desperate.  Rory's head cleared from its lethargic state, and her sang-froid returned, but she was still there; she hadn't pushed him on the floor and yelled at him for being so forceful or presumptuous, and she certainly hadn't made any moves to answer the door, so he figured he was pretty safe for a few more minutes.

Why oh why did she have to open her eyes and look at him?  If Tristan had one weakness as a human being, it was Rory's eyes and what they did to him; everything about them – the color, the expressiveness, the size – everything, turned him into a fumbling, bumbling imbecile.  She, without a doubt, had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.  Plus the way she was looking at him did nothing for his self-control either.

Rory's sheepish grin crept up the corners of her mouth, and she briefly looked down, all of a sudden feeling very shy and embarrassed.  Tristan kept her head from ducking all the way by catching her mouth in a kiss – chaste in the most pure sense, and yet loving all at the same time.  She wondered what it would be like to feel this way for the rest of her life.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Unfortunately, such dreams and fantasies could not be entertained at the present time.

          "Rory!!!  Are you okay?!  Rory, answer the door please!!!"

Uh oh – she had a boyfriend – and he was standing on her porch – right now – and he was not the god-like creature hovering above her with his hand shoved down her pants.

          "Oh no oh no oh no oh no, no, nono no no no no," she mumbled, shooting up on the couch and straightening out her clothing.

          "Rory……." Tristan began, but Rory silenced him with her hand clamped over his mouth.

          "NO talking – you must NOT say a WORD – about this, okay?"

Her urgent whisper and terrified countenance were enough instruction for him, so he merely nodded and allowed her to get up from their perch.

Rory had overestimated her strength, and felt her knees bobble beneath her; Tristan, seeing her unsteadiness, rose and was there immediately to save her from a rather clumsy and hazardous fall, trying his darnedest not to laugh.

          "Walk much," he teased softly in her ear, chuckling at the glare he received in return, followed by what he was sure was a smile. 

She leaned her back against the front of his torso to get good leverage and managed to push herself onto her own feet, but she held onto his hands just to be safe.

          "You okay?"

Nodding, she braved her way to the door, stumbling and wobbling every now and then like she'd never walked before in her life.  Tristan, again, tried not to laugh.  Opening it, she found a very disturbed and irate Dean, smoke seeming to wisp from his ears.

          "Dean – hi."

He didn't look pleased to see her, what with a shirtless asshole standing behind her with a smug grin on his face.

          "Rory, where the hell did you go?!  One minute I was talking to you and then nothing!  Then I hear you talking to this –"

Rory gave him a warning look, and he refrained from any derogatory comments.  Then he gave Tristan a good once-over and became deeply angered.

          "And why the hell doesn't he have a shirt on?!!"

Tristan's grin increased by a smug factor of infinity, only causing to perturb Dean further, which ultimately was its goal anyway.  Rory fidgeted nervously for an answer that would pacify the situation.

          "He – well, his clothes were wet, 'cause of the – of the storm, and he didn't have any other clothes to wear besides some old sweats from the Clothes Drive, but that's all there was, there wasn't any shirts – that would fit him, so he couldn't wear one, so that's why – he doesn't have one – on………"

          "Now Rory, don't be modest – we both know you couldn't stand the fact that I had a shirt on so you ripped it off in a torrent of blind passion.  Dean deserves to know the truth," Tristan confessed falsely.

To him and in this circumstance, lying was bunches more fun because angering Dean was Priority #1.  He slightly changed his mind when Rory sent daggers from her eyes to right between his forehead for his tall tale.

_Shut up_, she mouthed harshly and turned back to a fuming Dean.

          "Dean, that is not true – in the least," she said, elbowing Tristan behind her for trying to get her in trouble and feeling better when she heard him groan in mild agony.

"Whatever it doesn't matter!  Seriously Rory, you had me worried, I thought someone **looks pointedly at Tristan** had broken in and was mugging you or something awful like that, you scared the shit out of me!"

"First of all, I wouldn't mug her, Assbite, and second she invited me in here!"

This triggered another death glare from Rory directed at Tristan, who merely smiled in his innocent way like he hadn't said anything.

          "You _invited him?!  I thought you guys hated each other!  NO, check that, I thought _you_ hated __him!"_

Tristan involuntarily tensed at remembering Rory's previous words, and he immediately wanted to smash Dean's floppy head into the nearest wall as soon as humanly possible.  Rory saw him about to take action and stopped him then turned to Dean.

          "Dean, can I talk to Tristan for a few minutes – alone?"

Dean's face got a million shades redder at her request.

          "You've **got to be joking!"**

          "Nothing about this is a joke, Dean – please, I just need a few minutes – it'll be quick."

He looked back and forth between Tristan and Rory, not entirely sold on the idea, but then his eyes went back to Rory, and she was doing that pleading thing she did so well, he had to give in.

          "Okay, fine.  But I'll be **right outside," he told her, heading for the door.**

          "Yeah, like that helped you a whole lot earlier," Tristan mumbled rather loudly, sending Dean a few inches from his face.

          "Tristan stop it!  Dean – outside, please."

The only thing that kept the brawl from ensuing was Rory dragging Dean to the door and slamming it his face.

She turned to glower at Tristan, who wasn't feeling so hot himself.  It was very easy to feel sorry for him; he looked so innocent and dejected, and she knew she should say something about what she had said to him earlier, since they had, after all, just skipped the insults and gotten right to the foreplay.  

The hole he was burning into the ground with his blank stare started to make Rory uneasy, and she needed to speak up.

          "Why do you have to be such a jerk around him?  I know you're not like that."

He shrugged, continuing to look at the floor.

          "Reflex."

She nodded, wondering when the situation had gotten so awkward – oh yeah, back when Dean reminded her that she'd said she hated Tristan – again.

          "Well, I guess I should get going, seeing as how my very presence causes you to hate me even more," Tristan said bitterly, making his way to the laundry room to get his dried clothes.

          "Tha - that's not true – I don't hate you."

          "Lame Rory – that's really lame, try harder next time to sound less sincere," he snapped, snatching out his shirt and pants.

          "I don't hate you Tristan, I don't – I just said that before because – because I was upset, and I was having a bad day, but I don't hate you.  After this afternoon, I hope you would notice that," she hinted, shyly glancing around at the hidden reference.

Her illusive behavior brought a genuine smile to his face, and he stopped shuffling through the laundry to look at her.

          "So you don't hate me?"

She rolled her eyes, grinning in her bashful way.

          "No."

Leaning against the door frame, he laughed to himself; knowing that piece of information would've made these past few days a whole lot easier on him, seeing as how he'd been racking his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna live knowing the one girl he ever really cared about hated him.

          "Well that's – good," he concluded, crossing his arms over his currently-unclothed chest.

There he goes again, licking his lips and doing that smoldering stare thing – does he plan this?

Rory glanced away, scrambling for a distraction.

          "So………what – is going on – exactly?"

His question refocused her attention, and she found out she actually had to give him an answer.

          "I think we should be friends," she spit out.

          "Really?"

He didn't say it in a tone that entailed he was pleased with her decision, and it was very obvious.

          "Yeah."

          "Just friends."

          "I guess that doesn't meet your expectations………"

          "No I – just – tend not to like that phrase 'I think we should be friends', it never ends – well."

          "You say it like it's a bad thing."

          "Maybe not for you, but it is for me."

She tried not to look hurt by his comment.

          "That came out wrong – that's not what I meant………all I'm saying is – maybe it's easy for you to just forget what happened today or pretend like it didn't matter, but, I can't do that."

"I'm not asking you to sign your life away, I just think we should try being friends, seeing as how we never have been before."

"That's not true."

"I happen to disagree with you on that one, because I think it is."

"L – that's beside the point -- friends don't act like we acted, Rory okay, friends don't do – that – stuff – why is it that you can't see that?" 

"Well I'm sorry for trying to make this situation a little less awkward – obviously you don't want to be my friend so forget I brought it up!"

"Were you not just listening to me a couple seconds ago?  Y'know, when my mouth was moving and sounds were coming out?  That was me actually talking to you."

"Don't be a smart-ass, you're the one who thinks it's a bad thing for us to be friends………"

"I don't think it's a bad thing, it's just not realistic.  Believe me, nothing sounds more enticing than me and you actually being able to exist together without fighting or killing each other, but I don't think it's that simple – especially when you take into account the fact that I can't handle just being friends with you, Rory, it doesn't work like that!"

"Why not?!"

"Because I………"

Tristan tightened his jaw, first because he hoped his voice wouldn't crack like that ever again, and second because he was debating whether or not to put himself out there, and he could've sworn he heard her stop breathing.  Deciding against it, he swallowed and looked away.

Rory saw how his eyes glazed over with pain, and she felt terrible once again for hurting him – though, she wasn't sure, exactly, of what she'd done, but she knew she didn't want him to look like that – all sad and pitiful.  It was heart-breaking.

          "I should go," he said finally, pushing off the door and heading back in the laundry room to get his clothes.

          "Tristan………"

_How many times is she going to call my name like that, honestly._

He didn't answer, still snatching things out of the dryer.

          "What were you going to say," she asked.

          "It doesn't matter," he retorted icily.

          "Yes it does."

          "No, Rory, it does not – just drop it, alright?"

          "It does to me."

This made him pause from his task, looking at her in disbelief.

          "Is that a fact," came his inquiry.

          "Yes."

It was then that he made eye contact with her, walking right up to hover in her personal space, and she had to fight to remember what it was she asked him to begin with.

          "What would you say if I were to tell you that just being in the same room with you makes my blood run through my entire body to places that don't include my brain and all I can do is pray I don't do something stupid, like throw you on the couch over there and do very ungodly things that I will not and cannot say, because then that would mean I'd actually act on them, and I don't think you're ready for that – I'm hangin' by a thread here, Rory, and I swear I am this fucking close t…"

Silence briefly crept into his monologue, and she waited.

          "You do not want to know what I was going to say."

Rory's mind didn't tell her eyes to blink or her lungs to inflate with oxygen the entire time he was talking, but she was pretty sure she wouldn't have responded anyway.  The fact that all he was doing was talking and she couldn't look away said something, but she wasn't ready to face just what that was.

Before she knew what was happening, he had already gathered his things and was heading to the front door.

          "I'll give you your sweatpants back tomorrow," he called over his shoulder, and walked out.

Dean, who had been standing at the bottom of the porch while they were talking, turned when he heard the door open and shut almost simultaneously.  His inquisitive stare became dark with jealousy when he saw who came out.

Tristan paused momentarily upon seeing Dean waiting just like he said he would be, and yet he denied himself the pleasure of saying something snide, trudging down the steps barefoot and making a direct path for his car.

          "If you so much as touched her, you'd better believe you'll regret it."

_Oh, so he wanted to go there_, Tristan mused inwardly, pivoting on his heel to face the sub textual challenge head on.

          "Too late, man," he said, adding a commiserating smirk to the mix then leaving Dean to fume for a bit before going inside to ask Rory what exactly he meant by that.

          *                 *                 *                 *                 *                 *


	5. Can't Say It

DISCLAIMER: Yeah -- forgot one of these -- still the same old shit though.

A/N: Well -- hi guys. Thanks for the reviews, I'm glad you all are enjoying it. I love writing it, so maybe that's why --

Some quick things: I lied about Ch. 3 being watered down -- I was lazy and didn't feel like editing, and therefore it remained just as smutty as the day I wrote it. By-gones.

Also, I didn't want Tristan saying he loved Rory in Ch. 2, for all you who were wondering what I was smoking (perhaps some crack laced with 'makes fics move too damn fast'). He's infatuated with her, but he does not LOVE her -- yet. I plan on fixing that, just so you all know.

AND…………

This is the end of Dare You To Move -- 

Part II: Paper Cup (inspired by Heather Nova's song) is in the works and fast-approaching, so keep your ears and eyes open -- okay how about just your eyes, you can't hear fic being updated -- lame ass………. 

Alright guys, R&R. Gracias.

******

DARE YOU TO MOVE

By trory-goddess

Ch. 5: Can't Say It

Tristan gathered Rory's lips in his own sensually before parting them with his tongue, exploring the wet hollow space of her mouth. She wordlessly responded, reciprocating his actions until her mind was hazy with desire and all she could discern as reality was him. Slowly, she felt him enter her opening again, and she was instantly flooded with memories of events not long before. 

The first time, they had made love; it was gradual and affectionate yet at the same time completely torrid with lust and emotion. It had hurt like hell, but the pain subsided eventually, evolving into a growing ache for more of – whatever it was. It had lasted a lot longer than she originally thought it was supposed to, but then again, this was Tristan. At first, she was terrified that he wouldn't – um – fit inside, and that something would rip or tear and that would be the end; she found out later on in the process that it was only that much more lovely because of his – girth. Okay, gross – better word – portion … there. And he had been so gentle, so loving, like she would break if he moved too much too fast, and it made her melt.

The second time had been a little more…forceful.

While he'd still been very concerned for her welfare, he made it perfectly clear it was gonna be rough, and she didn't mind that at all. Ultimately there was no real recovery period, so he jumped right in, hooking her legs over his shoulders (which was a feet even she didn't know was possible for her non-athletic body), and slamming the entirety of his manhood against her body until she swore she felt him in the pit of her stomach. She screamed very loudly, shutting her eyes and digging her nails into his forearms at the intensity of him being so close. When he drew himself out then crashed back into her, she convulsed, grabbing the bed sheets for stability, and so it continued – in and out, back and forth, each thrust faster and sharper than the last one, bringing with it another tidal wave of orgasms that flooded to every corner of her senses and shattered her resolve completely. She had reached the point when all she could think to say was 'Oh God Tristan please' – actually, that's all she could say, there was no thinking involved. Her pleas were also accompanied by his low, deep-throated moans or some string of profanity – that was the other thing, Tristan had a foul mouth, and she liked it. In any other setting his language would've seemed crude or inappropriate – but this was the setting: he was fucking her senseless, so, he could say whatever the hell he wanted. After one particularly drawn-out thrusting period where he was determined to have her feel every inch of him penetrating her flesh until it made her crazy, her internal muscles clenched around him, driving him over the edge and taking her along with him. Shortly after he'd de-shouldered her legs, letting them rest around his waist once again while he'd waited for both of their bodies to stop trembling……

Which brings us to Sexual Encounter Numero Trois. How he was still going after all of this was a mystery to her, but she wanted it – even now she still wanted more.

Tristan skillfully tested her boundaries, finishing off the entering with a slow grinding of his hips, and Rory released a shuddering sigh in appreciation. He repeated his actions only half-way, because she stopped him. She received the questioning look as he lay poised above her, waiting.

"I wanna be on top."

__

Wait, what the hell did she just say?

Wait, what the hell did I just say?

He gulped unconsciously, not fully expecting any sort of bold moves from her their first night of unhinged, animalistic sex.

She encouraged him with a sound, passionate kiss so he would trust her sincerity, then pushed against his torso with hers until they rolled over and Tristan was on his back. They were, however, still joined in certain _areas_, and once Rory's hips collided with his, she felt the full consequence of her request and actions, and she slapped her hands against Tristan's chest to still any movement while choking out a scream at being impaled in a foreign position. At seeing her discomfort, he almost called the whole thing off, leaning up to withdraw from the union and assess the damage, but again, she stopped him.

"Don't – I – I'm okay," she assured him, trying to readjust so as to be most unperturbed, which did require some – maneuvering on her part.

"Fuck," he swore, he thought, quietly, and she couldn't help but smile, combing her fingers through his damp hair and kissing his mouth and the tip of his nose simultaneously.

She knew he wanted her to be contented in every way possible but – it was a little too much to handle. He was a teenage high school boy, these things are unavoidable.

Slowly but surely, her inner walls loosened and gave way and she bit her lip to keep from screaming again but also not knowing it would feel so incredible. Gaining more confidence, she told him to lay back down and placed her hands on his abdominal muscles to maintain the favorable angle at which he entered her. Then she rose slightly and lowered again, repeating the pattern to find a rhythm; at about the fourth time he met her mid-stride …… oh this just got better and better. Eventually her movements became more subtle and she let him take over because he knew what he was doing – God did he know what he was doing.

Soon, a very familiar feeling stirred within her core, and she held on to his arms, riding out orgasm after orgasm while his hands rested on her waist – it was one big orgasm, the whole thing. Briefly in the back of her mind, she heard him saying something, words fading in and out.

"Obsequious …… synonym……flattery……"

Her head shot up and she cleared out the low drumming in her ears so she could hear him.

"Huh?"

"Obsequiousness – is a synonym – for flattery."

"What?!"

Blinking rapidly, Rory flinched at the feel of wood under her fingers and not Tristan's arms – wait, wood? She was at a table – a table where? She frantically searched her cloudy surroundings for familiarity – the smoke cleared and revealed bookshelves – lots of them – and some more tables – with people sitting at them – people she'd seen before. She looked down at the spot in front of her: a packet of papers that read "SAT Review" piled next to her big red book of "10 Real SAT's" from the College Board (limey bastards). She was at the Chilton SAT study hall in the library.

OH cheese and rice…….

IT WASN'T REAL!!! 

No wonder she'd enjoyed multi-positional sex and felt no repercussions. The whole thing had been fake, a concoction of her clearly-active imagination, an empty daydream – well she didn't know about empty, but it certainly was a daydream.

God, it seemed so real, like she was there, with Tristan, and they were fucking each others' brains out – damn.

And the cackling face on the clock told her the test started in five minutes, peachy – now instead of remembering her vocab word cubbies and the S-A-L-L Analogy strategies (don't ask), she'd be assaulted with images of Tristan in all his beautiful nakedness – his beautiful, muscular, tight-bodied nakedness, his beautiful, muscular ti—

She had to get to class.

Shuffling out of the library in a hasty manner, she made her way down the fairly vacant hallway until she reached her assigned classroom and walked in, praying she wasn't late.

Low-and-behold, who should be sitting in the front row with a pencil tucked behind his ear and wearing a long-sleeve, burgundy, white-seamed T, medium-blue jeans and dark brown, non-boot boot-like shoes but Tristan DuGrey, and she froze in the doorway. When he made eye contact with her and gave a closed-mouth smirk, she felt the heat creep up her neck and flush her face in embarrassment…..this could be a problem.

"Ms. Gilmore – would you care to join us?"

Rory snapped her vision away from Tristan to the teacher's inquiry, realizing she'd been standing in front of everyone for quite a while. Her eyes moved back to Tristan, nodding his head in the direction of the seat next to him as if to hint for her to sit down. Speedily, she took him up on his offer, settling in and getting out all her #2 pencils and necessary materials.

Watching the teacher very closely, Tristan scooted his desk toward Rory, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Are you alright?"

Having been leaning over her backpack in the opposite direction, she shot up too fast at the sound of his voice, bumping into his shoulder and scaring herself.

"Ah!!"

"Hey, h-hey, there – it's just me," he chided.

She looked around nervously, hoping she hadn't caused a scene – everyone seemed to be going back to their business of test preparation.

"I'm fine."

"You just seem a little jumpy, y'know," he illustrated, shaking his hand in a 'jumpy' fashion.

Rory noticed his closeness and gave him an expression that quickly shut him up, because she was of course unconsciously undressing him with her eyes and surprisingly it made him nervous.

Thankfully, the teacher announced it was time to start and he didn't have to deal with her behavior just yet.

******

Leaning against the wall outside the classroom, Tristan waited for Rory to come out so she could give him some sort of explanation for her actions before the test -- since when did Rory Gilmore look at him like that? How 'bout since never, yeah how 'bout that? It was like -- he was a giant -- cup of coffee and she wanted to consume every drop of him……….she must be on something, that would explain it. No more rationalizing took place because she was currently making her way down the hallway to her locker it seemed and was paying him no mind.

"Rory? Hey Rory wait up………"

She stopped trucking to face him, glancing around awkwardly.

"Oh -- hey."

"Hey."

*Cough* awkward silence *cough*.

" So the test was hard………"

" Yeah -- it took me forever to do the Critical Reading, I left a couple blank," she said to fill the space.

" Yeah………."

Rory tugged on the long sleeves of her dark blue subtle V-cut shirt, pulling them over her hands, then folded her arms across her chest.

"*Clears throat* I have your clothes in my, uh -- locker, if you want 'em," Tristan informed, glancing behind him.

"Oh, okay."

She followed him down the hallway wordlessly, struggling to erase all the memories of his defined, rippling muscles encased with soft, tan skin that smoothed every curve of his body -- those memories could get her in trouble -- scratch that -- got her in trouble. It was very hot again, all of a sudden, and she leaned against the wall, idly scratching her neck and rolling her eyes in hopes that her rising temperature would abate while he entered his combination and opened the door, unaware. 

Her cooling ritual was interrupted when he handed her a plastic bag and resealed his locker loudly.

"I washed them -- don't worry," he assured her with a slight smirk, wondering if that was the reason she was being hesitant.

"Oh -- you didn't have to do that -- no one at my house really wears them or anything."

"I have cooties -- can't have those lingering around."

She laughed in moderation.

"Right, I forgot."

The pausing stretched out, and Rory's resolve became less and less pronounced -- 

God damn it, all he was doing was standing there, and yet she still wanted to jump him. She had to walk away.

"So I guess I'll see you Monday," she assumed hurriedly.

"Uh yeah, okay," Tristan concurred, feeling a little suspicious of her conduct at the present time.

When she nodded, turning on her heel and heading off in the opposite direction, he figured that was the end of it. Well, he was wrong.

She changed her mind instantaneously, walking speedily back to the spot she previously occupied in front of him then dropping all her stuff so she could effectively grab his face and kiss him like there was no tomorrow.

Of course he was completely caught off guard but there was no room for argument, what with her shoving her tongue forcefully into his mouth without so much as a 'please' or 'thank you' -- not that one was need. He soon responded with equal fervor, creeping his hands around her neck and therefore moving hers to around his torso. 

Every brush of her lips against his, every entanglement of their tongues was more intense than the last, and soon they both got lost in the rhythm of it all, acting without thinking.

Okay, so there was a little thinking -- didn't she just tell him yesterday that she wanted them to be _friends_, wasn't that what she said, it was what she said right? He could've sworn she said there would be no more of this, well, tonsil hockey going on any time soon or ever. This was wrong -- in the most right way, but it was still wrong.

Tristan tried to draw his lips away from hers discreetly, wanting an explanation.  
  
Rory clenched on to his shirt and bit him in a hopefully-delicate way, judging by the low groan he let out, then pressed even closer to him, not letting him escape; she didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want clarity, she did not want to be rational or responsible for her actions -- she had to kiss him, and as selfish as that was, it had to happen, plain and simple.

The rate at which her tongue swept against and danced with his was making him dizzy, and soon there would be no going back -- she would think she could do whatever she wanted to him and damn his feelings to hell. No, that's not how it was going to be.

His second attempt to get away was more successful because he physical wrenched their connection apart by grabbing her shoulders and putting her at arms length -- okay maybe not, she was still fighting him -- putting her at ARMS LENGTH and stepping back to catch his breath.

She yelped in protest then gnawed on her bottom lip solemnly, finding every spot around and excluding Tristan suddenly fascinating.

"GOD Rory --"

"I'm sorry, I jus --"

"What the hell was that?! I mean -- GOD………"

He was angry and aroused at the same time, continuously running his hands through his hair while panting and giving her fiery looks.

"You are so un-fucking-believable, you know that? Jesus!"

"I was -- I -- my h -- I'm sorry --"

" You can't just -- DO that and not -- fuck……..."

This was getting to be a bit much.

He closed his eyes and tightened his jaw, snapping his neck back into place (since she very well may have misaligned it) and letting out a long, arduous breath.

"Just tell me why -- please."

She combed her hair away from her face, still avoiding his gaze while searching for a reasonable answer -- she was so confused, and she felt her eyes sting with on-coming tears. God, why was she crying? 

"I -- I don't know."

He huffed a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head in disagreement.

"No no, no, you don't tell me that you want us to try being friends and then the NEXT DAY give me the single most AMAZING KISS of my entire life and say you don't know why you did it -- that's so -- that's -- well it's bullshit, basically is what it is, just good, old-fashioned bullshit -- Rory."

His words stung immensely, for whatever reason -- or because it was the truth, what was wrong with her??? He was not a yo-yo or some alternately meaningless play thing she could toy with, he was a person -- a very hot person………oh shut up.

She tried to stop the salt water from running out of her eyes and down her reddening face by picking at her nails.

"I couldn't help it………"

The words cut through his frustration and he was tempted to feel sorry for her, taking a step closer.

"But why," he questioned more softly.

His coaxing tone shattered her composure and she let out a whimper-sob, sniffling and wiping her cheek. Immediately she became upset with herself for being so foolish and rash, and she acted on impulse.

"Because I'm STUPID."

Oh, well then --

If he felt any hope or light-heartedness or even sorrow with regards to the girl standing in front of him, he didn't anymore, and his expression became motionless and unforgiving. 

Horrified, she clamped her hand over her mouth at what she said, sorely regretting it.

"NO, no Tristan I didn't mean that --"

"Of course you didn't because your STUPID."

"No -- I mean I am, but -- that's not what I was trying to say."

"Well at least you said SOMETHING, 'cause before you didn't say shit, so, now it all makes sense."

"I didn't mean it," she pleaded, her voice thick from crying.

"Yes, you did -- don't fucking say you didn't mean it, you always say what you mean, Rory, I know that for a fact -- just leave it," he surrendered, brushing past her.

"Please, Tristan no, wait --"

Her hand grabbed onto his, stopping his retreat and making him face her.

This was pathetic -- but he couldn't let go.

"Don't."

"I w --"

"Save it," he cut her off, silencing her with the same hand she had previously held.

"Tr -- no --"

"RORY?"

Forced into quietness by his warning tone, she bit her lip again, thoroughly blinking a tear from her vision in resignation.

"I'm not going through this with you, alright? You go your way and I'll go mine, and that's it -- you obviously have no fucking clue what you want, so we have nothing else to talk about."

"Yes I do --"

"NO, y'don't, because you can't even _say _it."

He had a point -- he was right. She couldn't.  


The words were lodged in the back of her throat, ready to come out, but she couldn't -- even as he walked away and left her alone to deal with whatever it was she had to deal with, she couldn't.

Defeated, she slid down the wall and curled up against her legs, wishing away that God-awful daydream and all the misery it brought along with it.

******

And that's all she wrote -- she being me, and that's all being that's all for now.

Thank you to the reviewers:

mandie, starshollow, *no name*, Intuition1, btvsgoddess, AggieSweety, lil devil, eek, Jewls13, Trory4ever, cinnamon_5575, d_beaux, Mandy, MsLessa, and Arieanna

I do appreciate it, and hope you read the next part.

Adiocci, see you guys soon!


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